


Black Russians

by Lacerta26



Series: Got a Light? [2]
Category: Kingsman (Movies)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Smoking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-19
Updated: 2018-11-19
Packaged: 2019-08-25 17:48:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,794
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16665400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lacerta26/pseuds/Lacerta26
Summary: Eggsy smokes, fine. He knows it’s bad for him, he’ll quit before he’s 30, easy. At least he’s not in denial about it.Harry on the other hand is a big liar when he tells people he doesn’t smoke, has never, would never.





	Black Russians

**Author's Note:**

> [Inspired exclusively by this picture.](https://i.pinimg.com/originals/40/18/07/4018078684f8d62371e03c8bc223e89e.jpg)
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> Harry smokes Sobranie Black Russians; smoking is terribly bad for you don't do it.

Eggsy smokes, fine. He knows it’s bad for him, he’ll quit before he’s 30, easy. At least he’s not in denial about it.

Harry on the other hand is a big liar when he tells people he doesn’t smoke, has never, would never.

 

I.

Harry started smoking as rebellion.

Eggsy keeps getting waylaid as he tries to move himself and his minimal shit in to Harry’s house once they’ve been dating six months and Harry points out he’s there more often than he’s at his mum’s. Harry has the same sense for interior design as a spinster aunt and has literally never thrown anything away so Eggsy is eking out space where he can.  He’s supposed to be reorganising the spare room cupboard when he finds a box, labelled in Harry’s neat handwriting, _Harrow 1974-76,_ and the temptation to go poking his nose in is too much. He is, after all, a spy and the opportunity to see what Harry looked like as a teenager is too good to pass up.

Eggsy’s mum had soundly embarrassed him when they’d gone round hers to introduce Harry properly, as his boyfriend, by getting out every photo ever taken of Eggsy from birth to about 12 years old. After that Dean had been in the picture a few years and decided there didn’t need to be any more photos of his stepson. Eggsy privately thinks she was trying to make a point about his and Harry’s age gap but when she realised there was a sharp drop in the number of family photos Eggsy was in she’d immediately grabbed her phone, deposited a squirming Daisy in Harry’s lap and taken about 50 photos in quick succession. Eggsy’s favourite, of Harry smiling indulgently down at Daisy once she'd stopped wriggling, while Eggsy looks at them both fondly, is now framed on Harry’s – their – mantelpiece but he’s not seen that many old pictures of Harry.

Eggsy tilts his head, listens out for Harry; he’s been swearing in the bedroom for the last half hour, attempting to make space in the wardrobe for some of Eggsy’s clothes. He’s gone silent now, which either means he’s resigned to the task or having a strop about it. Eggsy doesn’t think Harry’d mind, still feels a little sneaky as he opens the box. There are half a dozen or so little plastic pouches of photos, folded strips of negatives and even, rattling about at the bottom of the box, some _slides._ God, Harry really is ancient.

He opens the first lot of photos, mostly landscapes, a couple of out of focus shots of what looks like a school play. The next lot is just a bunch of school photos; rows and rows of boys looking mulish and bored. He picks out Harry easily; tall and gangly with a big sweep of fluffy, un-styled hair. It’s hard to imagine Harry as anything other than the suave, stylish gentleman that changed Eggsy’s life let alone younger than Eggsy is now. The next folder he opens is far more interesting; the photos casual and informal, Harry with a bunch of boys, sat on metal framed beds, Harry with a _guitar_ and finally Harry laughing with another boy, heads bent close and intimate. The other boy looks older than Harry, maybe only by a year or so, his hair artfully dishevelled and his school uniform looks off, in that way only cool older boys can get away with. He’s got a cigarette between his lips and when Eggsy checks he sees Harry’s pinching a cigarette between his thumb and forefinger, too. Harry was clearly in love with this boy; hero worship and adoration plain on his face. Eggsy wonders if they ever did anything about it.

A polite cough from the doorway lifts Eggsy out of his reverie. He feels himself blush as he scrambles to put the photos away, ‘Harry, sorry, I was just…’

There’s literally no excuse, it’s quite obvious what he was up to but Harry is smiling at him, coming into the room to kneel beside Eggsy at the cupboard. He takes the photo out of Eggsy’s hand, ‘don’t worry, there aren’t any secrets I’d keep from you in here.’ The nature of their work makes secret keeping a necessity but they hide nothing from each other at home.

‘Who was he?’ asks Eggsy.

‘David Jones,’ murmurs Harry, ‘I haven’t thought about him in decades,’ he regards the picture quietly, privately, slides a hand, warm and comforting, on to the nape of Eggsy’s neck to better temper the confession, ‘he was my first love.’

Eggsy leans into Harry’s body, to show he doesn’t mind, ‘oh yeah?’

Harry rolls his eyes, ‘nothing like that you dirty minded boy. It was entirely unconsummated I assure you. I merely worshipped him from afar.’

‘Doesn’t look like you’re very afar from him in this,’ says Eggsy, the petulant lilt to his voice totally feigned and Harry knows it, ‘how old were you here?’

‘Hmm…15 I think. Or 16, just. He was 17. That was my first cigarette. I smoked for two years after that just to impress him, filthy habit,’ he prods Eggsy in the side.

'Yeah, yeah, I’m gonna quit, leave it out.’

‘Of course, darling. I think I wanted to piss off my parents, too. Smoking, rock and roll, liking boys. I was quite the rebel in my day, you know,’ he smiles indulgently, remembering something from long ago, a part of him Eggsy can’t reach, before standing up, smoothing out his trousers, ‘will you come help in the bedroom?’ sees Eggsy’s raised eyebrow, the quirk of his mouth, ‘not like that. Although if we can get it sorted by tonight I might tell you about my actual first _love_ at Harrow,’ and strides from the room.

‘What?’ says Eggsy rushing to shove the photos away, delighted, ‘you said all that shit was exaggerated. Harry?’ before following Harry’s laughter all the way to the bedroom and as is always the way of things with the pair of them, into bed.

 

II.

Harry smokes when he’s stressed.

He’s pacing in his office, he keeps looking at his watch and there’s a muscle jumping in his jaw which means he’s _really_ stressed. Roxy has been on a mission in Vladivostok for two weeks and her communications have just gone dark.

‘I should never have sent her out alone,’ says Harry and Eggsy shares a look with Merlin who's been typing furiously at his tablet as he deploys Percival to affect a rescue.

‘Lancelot can handle herself, Arthur. And Percival is on his way to her, ETA two hours.’

‘She may not have two hours!’

‘We had no idea they had intel on us. From her last update, it looks like they don’t know much so I’m guessing they’ll keep her alive to find out more.

‘Guesses are no good to me when one of my agents is in danger,’ Harry had been shouting at Merlin when Eggsy got to his office but he’s speaking quietly now, radiating a furious menace that would be scary if Eggsy’s didn’t know him so well. He’d heard Arthur was on the warpath because Lancelot was MIA from one of Merlin’s tech team and had dashed up here, mostly out of concern for Roxy but also worry for Harry.

‘Is he like this when I go on missions?’ he says to Merlin in an undertone. He’s seen Harry stressed before but this is something else. Harry’s initial frustration at the largely administrative nature of the Arthur position seems to have waned but without sufficient distraction his concern for other agents on high risk missions cuts through his usual control; especially now the responsibility for their wellbeing is on his shoulders.

‘Eggsy, with you he’s worse,’ says Merlin not unkindly and Harry glares at them, ‘do the pair of you not have anything helpful to do?’ 

‘Not until you calm down and I’m certain you’re not going to break anything,’ says Merlin, level. Eggsy knows Merlin, too, and Roxy is his special favourite, the grip he has on his tablet is a clear indication he’s as stressed as Harry just hiding it better.

Harry is staring out the window now, looking caged. As Eggsy moves towards him Merlin shoots him a warning look, hand to Eggsy’s arm. Eggsy shakes him off, goes to Harry’s side, takes his hand.

‘Come on, Harry, come with me.’

‘I can’t…I have to…’

‘Merlin will tell is if there’s any news,’ he looks over, ‘won’t you, Merlin?’

‘Aye, lad.’

Eggsy has always found the upper floors of the Kingsman manor calming, quiet, like a library, with all the frenetic activity confined to the subterranean levels. He pulls Harry with him, into the blessedly silent corridor, the staff having decided to make themselves scarce and finds them an empty sitting room, crowds Harry on to a couch in the corner. Harry’s hands are on him in an instant, up under his suit jacket, trying to find skin under his shirt, seeking confirmation that Eggsy, at least, is here and alive. He presses kisses sloppily to the side of Eggsy’s mouth, his jaw but Eggsy gets Harry wrists in a firm hold and pushes them apart; Harry’s taller than him but after a year at Kingsman Eggsy is broader, just as strong. He keeps close, though, his thigh a warm line against Harry’s, to show he isn’t going anywhere.

‘Harry, that’s not what you need,’ he says firmly and Harry slumps, defeat spreading through his limbs as he rests his head on Eggsy’s shoulder.

‘Do you have any cigarettes on you?’

‘I’m not sure that’s what you need either.’

‘Maybe not, do you?’

‘You don’t smoke.’

‘Not often.’

‘Won’t Merlin go mental if we smoke in here? What if it sets off the sprinkler system?’ says Eggsy but he’s already fishing his pack of fags from his pocket.

‘I am Arthur, I should be able to abuse that power at least occasionally. Open a window if you’re worried,’ Harry produces a lighter, a real one, not an incendiary device masquerading as one, leans over and lights the cigarette in Eggsy’s mouth before sparking up his own. He leans back, eyes closed, the tension bleeding out of him a fraction after the first inhale.

‘Christ, I haven’t smoked a cigarette in 20 years and this is the one I start again with? Can’t you buy nicer ones?’

‘Oi, I don’t have a go at you for all your expensive yet still somehow shit tastes. These are classic.’

‘They’re foul,’ says Harry, taking another drag and lacing the fingers of their free hands together.

‘And none of this “start again” rubbish. You can have one for therapeutic purposes then I’m cutting you off,’ Eggsy looks at Harry carefully, there’s still a crease between his eyebrows, his throat bobs as he swallows; this isn’t a get away and wait it out sort of problem, something is still bothering Harry, something specific.

‘She’ll be OK, you know. Our Rox, she’s invincible.’

Harry opens his eyes and he looks wounded, torn open with guilt, ‘she asked me for backup. I told her she could handle it on her own. If anything were to happen to her it would be my fault. Not Arthur’s fault, not Kingsman’s, mine.’

Eggsy has nothing to say to that, no words that will comfort Harry. All he can do is be there, ready for whatever outcome. He lets Harry smoke five more cigarettes before he confiscates the pack and they sit in the quiet of the room, waiting.

An hour and forty-five minutes later Merlin bursts in, wrinkling his nose at the fug in the room, as Eggsy and Harry immediately jump to their feet, ‘Arthur, Galahad. Lancelot is fine. Percival’s got her. She’s injured but not critically, didn’t give anything away in the interrogation, took out a fair bit of their infrastructure when they pulled her in, apparently,’ he collapses into a chair, hand over his eyes as if delivering this news has taken the last bit of strength out of him.

‘Good girl, Rox,’ murmurs Eggsy as Harry pulls him in for a kiss that tastes like an ashtray and speaks of untold relief. When they break apart Eggsy is breathless and Harry is beaming.

‘Jesus, this better not stop you sending me on all the good missions.’

‘Darling, there are not enough cigarettes in the world that could get me through that. I’ll just have to come with you on all of them,’ says Harry with just enough sincerity Eggsy isn’t sure he’s joking.

 

III.

Harry smokes out of politeness.

When Eggsy gets back from the loo at his mum’s the living room is empty and the patio doors are open. He moves slowly, careful not to let his shadow fall across the doorway and peers out into the garden. Harry and his mum are sat on the bench looking out across the garden from the decking. Michelle is handing Harry a roll-up and a lighter, pulling another Rizla from the packet to roll a fag for herself. They sit silently for a moment, Eggsy briefly captivated by the image of Harry sucking on a rollie like Eggsy’s seen every single man in his life do at one point, from his Dad to Dean. It looks so incongruous next to Harry’s suit, his perfectly parted hair.

‘How’s work?’ says Michelle.

‘Fine, thank you.’

‘That really all you’re gonna give me? Fine?’

‘You know I can’t really talk about it,’ says Harry, contrite, ‘Eggsy is proving himself to be more than the man I thought he was. He’s a credit to you, and to Lee.’

Michelle is quiet for a moment, takes a few drags of her cigarette, ‘he wouldn’t like it you know, Eggsy’s Dad. Wouldn’t like you…’ she trails off as if she isn’t sure what she wants to say. Eggsy’s had this argument with her before as she veers between wanting him to be happy and worrying about Harry being too old or being his boss. 

‘I know you worry about him. In a job like ours nothing is certain. But one thing I do know for sure is that he makes me happy and I make him happy. I love him.’

Eggsy struggles to let out the breath he didn't realised he'd been holding. They’ve not said it out loud yet although he’s loved Harry, endlessly, for what feels like forever. His mum is looking at Harry now, Eggsy can’t really see her face but he can guess it’s the hard, serious one she pulls when she wants to be sure someone’s not bullshitting her. Eggsy’s been on the receiving end of that one before.

‘Does he know that?’ she says, demanding.

‘Yes, I…I should think so…’ it’s so rare to see Harry wrong-footed like this. Eggsy would be enjoying it if it didn’t feel quite so like his whole future hangs on a conversation he shouldn’t be overhearing.

‘Maybe you should tell him. The pair of you, I dunno, the life you’ve chosen. Hold on to the things you can be sure of,’ she stubs out her cigarette and stands up, ‘he loves you, you know, don’t waste that.’

She moves towards the house so quickly Eggsy barely has time to react, stupidly presses himself into the long curtains at the side of the patio doors like a kid playing hide and seek. Michelle just smiles at him, pats his cheek as she passes back into the house. Over her shoulder he can see Harry staring, dazed, into the garden, his cigarette forgotten, burning dangerously close to his fingers. Eggsy leaves it a beat before stepping outside, deliberately making more of a racket than necessary but Harry still startles, drops the fag-end of his cigarette and grinds it under his heel. Eggsy wants to laugh at this unlikely reversal; Harry stubbing out guilty cigarettes, feeling overwhelmed by the weight of Michelle Unwin’s expectations.

‘Alright, Harry?’ he says as he sits down on the bench beside him.

‘I do believe your mother is warming to me, finally.’

‘Course she is. You’re great. Beside it’d be a bit of a problem if my mum didn’t like the man I love, wouldn’t it?’

Harry, momentarily struck dumb, just stares at him til Eggsy has to kiss the gormless look off his face. It’s sweet and chaste, a press of lips that taste like his mum’s tobacco, which is pretty fucking surreal, before Harry is pulling back, not far, so their foreheads are pressed together.

‘You were listening, then?’

‘Duh, yeah, spy, hello?’

Harry smiles, a warm huff of breath across Eggsy’s cheek, ‘you can’t use that as an excuse every time you want to go nosing about,’ then suddenly serious, ‘I love you too, you know,’ and it doesn’t sound like an admission, reluctantly given, but the truth, easy. Eggsy grins, smiles wider than he has in his entire life and pulls Harry in for another kiss, a proper snog, full of intent, a promise and a declaration until they’re interrupted by Michelle yelling from the house, ‘boys, pudding’s ready!’ and they grudgingly break apart to head back inside.

‘I don’t think anyone’s called me a boy for about 30 years.’

‘Alright, grandad, what would you prefer?’

‘Fair point.’

‘And what’s with me catching you with a fag on the go? You’re always tellin’ me off, sayin’ I ought to quit.’

‘And so you should. Michelle offered, I wanted to be polite. It was nicer than those appalling ones you smoke.’

‘You’re actually ridiculous.’

‘Yes, thank you, it has been pointed out before.’

‘Good job I love you then ain’t it?’

‘As has that I believe.’

 

IV.

Harry smokes if he _has_ to, for work.

‘They pay actors extra if they have to smoke for a role,’ says Harry, miserably, ‘I’m going to have a word with Merlin about this.’

‘Shh,’ Eggsy hisses, glancing round, ‘they’ll hear you.’

“They” being the patrons of the very exclusive, very expensive gentlemen's club in Belgravia where you can absolutely smoke inside if you’re rich enough, posh enough or dangerous enough. Harry, in real life, is all three of these things and for the purposes of this mission so is his cover. They’ve been trying to get close to four members of the House of Lords who appear to have been selling state secrets. Harry is posing as a cultural attaché and Eggsy as his his assistant in the hope they’ll be recruited and find out how deep the plot goes.

The room is dark, wood panelled, lined with books and paintings Eggsy doesn’t want to guess at the value of. Harry looks at home here, in the creaking leather armchair, whisky in one hand and a cigarette in the other. In a concession to his character he’s wearing light woollen trousers, a cashmere jumper and loafers, his hair is styled softly. He looks beautiful and Eggsy loves to watch him and Eggsy _does_ love to watch Harry work; all in the name of learning the craft, of course. In a fight he’s captivating, controlled efficient movement in contrast to Eggsy’s own fluid, rolling grace. He makes space for Eggsy to slide into or creates impenetrable barriers with the surety of his reflexes; they work well together, picking up the slack where the other falls short. Eggsy is always glad to have Harry at his back but it’s the missions like this, with there’s no immediate danger to anyone’s life and it’s all about getting by on your wits or your charm, where Eggsy finds himself enthralled. Harry is a master at seducing the information he needs out of someone, gaining their trust and their confidence in such a way they aren’t aware they’ve been seduced. Even now, with this mission, Harry’s playing a game of seduction; he’s created a persona so perfect, so cleverly constructed that these men couldn’t imagine not sharing their secrets with him.

Eggsy is no stranger to dissimulation himself; where he grew up it paid to play it straight, play up to the men around you, put on a mask so they can’t see your fear. But an act like that, borne out of desperation, is transparent in the light of day, in the world of men who lie for a living. He knows he wears his emotions too close to the surface, has a long when to go to hide the chip on his shoulder. An accent and a good suit can get you out of a tight spot or work wonders in a pinch but Harry wears each alias like a second skin. It’s captivating and a little terrifying and Eggsy’s grateful he gets to see what’s underneath; Harry’s endless capacity for melodrama, his fastidiousness and his vanity tempered by his generosity, his kindness and his filthy fucking sense of humour. Or now, Harry, radiating the kind of quiet authority this set responds to as he casually draws on a cigarette, smoking ban be damned, proclaiming to hate it while Eggsy can see he loves it. It’s in the way his eyes slightly close on each inhale, the way his shoulders relax a fraction with each exhale; the bliss of an ex-smoker given license to fall off the wagon.

‘I’m throwing these away when we’re done with this,’ says Harry with a grimace, as he stubs out the cigarette, glances at his watch, and inclines his head towards the door. As if on cue their marks enter the room, slow and posh, heading directly for where Harry and Eggsy are sitting. Eggsy straightens, getting back into character, but Harry merely lounges further back in his seat, lights another cigarette.

 

V.

Harry smokes because he thinks he looks good doing it and for god’s sake he’s right.

Harry’s always had a flair for showing off and Eggsy catches him at it at the first Kingsman Christmas party since he became an agent. Eggsy's been dancing with Roxy, their attempt at a waltz devolving into giggly revolving round the dance floor in the manor’s ballroom, seriously, he can’t get over his life sometimes, and she’s wandered off to find some more champagne so he looks round the room for Harry. Eggsy catches Merlin’s eye and raises his eyebrows and Merlin just jerks a thumb in the direction of the gardens. Eggsy grins in thanks and heads out from the warm, golden glow of the party to the dark grounds beyond.

In his tux, he feels like the lead in some romantic period drama except he’s off to find his boss for some illicit snogging rather than on the hunt for, say, Keira Knightly. The night is cold and he doesn’t really want to be lingering too long out here but he can’t immediately see where Harry has got to. He heads off round the corner of the building, striding through the honeyed patches of light thrown from the lower windows; the music and the laughing chatter of his colleagues fades as he moves further away. He smells the cigarette before he spots Harry, expensive and mellow.

Harry’s back is to the manor, half in shadow, half limned in the light from the windows. In black tie Harry is every bit the James Bond cliché and it takes Eggsy’s breath away. Eggsy’s always a little embarrassed by how gone he is for Harry, like he should have a better handle on himself by now, like it should stop surprising him that Harry, tall and sexy, commanding and accomplished should want anything to do with Eggsy Unwin. Harry always tells him off for putting himself down and to be fair Harry was utter shite at getting his act together in the beginning so they’re as bad as each other. He pauses for a moment in the shadow of the house just to watch and it’s as if Harry knows he’s being looked at, turns his head so the play of light and shadow on his face falls perfectly, knows all his angles does Harry Hart, and lifts his cigarette to his mouth. He’s smoking one of those posh ones, black with a gold filter, Russian something. Roxy likes the pastel ones, pink and purple and yellow, which are a bugger to get a hold of. She looks elegant smoking them but Eggsy’s always thought he looks a bit of a tit puffing on a green cigarette. Harry, on the other hand, looks astonishing. 

‘Have you come to tell me off, Eggsy?’

Eggsy starts guiltily and sidles forward to press himself against Harry’s side, ‘no, what?’

‘Is it not a bit hypocritical of me to be on at you to quit and here I am…’ he gestures with the cigarette in one long fingered hand.

‘Nah, you only do it ‘cause you think it makes you look fit, ever since that mission with them Lords, don’t think I haven’t noticed,’ he takes the cigarette out of Harry’s hand, takes a drag, it tastes a hell of lot nicer than the Marlboros he smokes.

‘Fit am I?’ says Harry, he’s looking down at Eggsy with an odd look on his face.

‘You know you are, what’s up?’

‘I watched you,’ says Harry slowly, ‘doing this with Roxy, all that time ago in Shoreditch, do you remember?’

‘Doing what?’ says Eggsy, confused.

‘Sharing a cigarette. It looked so intimate,’ Harry takes the cigarette back, brings it to his mouth but doesn’t take a drag, the thumb of his other hand pressed to Eggsy’s bottom lip, ‘your mouth and her mouth on the filter. I wanted you so much, thought I couldn’t have you.’

Eggsy presses himself closer to Harry, chest to chest, lets Harry feel his cock, half hard in his trousers and whispers, ‘you have me Harry. You can have me anyway you want.’

Harry smiles, flicks his cigarette away, eyes gone dark, ‘I’d rather like to have you over the desk in my office, if I may?’

‘Course you may,’ says Eggsy grinning, ‘but there are proper bedrooms here you know.’

‘Where’s the fun in that? We have a bed at home.’

‘We have a desk at home, too.’

‘Spoil sport.’

‘I’m just concerned, at your age, you might put your back out.’

‘Cheeky shit,’ says Harry, pulls Eggsy in by the lapels of his jacket to kiss him, deep and full, ‘come with me I’ll show you what my back is capable of.’

They sneak back into the party, taking the back stairs up to Harry’s office to avoid their colleagues. Eggsy sticks close to Harry’s side, he smells like gin and smoke, cold from standing outside for so long and the rich smell that is undefinable and utterly _Harry._ When they reach the office Eggsy lets Harry manhandle him through the door, kicking it shut behind them, thinks briefly of sitting Harry in his desk chair, fixing him a drink and going to his knees ready to do as he’s told while Harry smokes another cigarette at him. But Harry appears to have other ideas, stepping in close to sweep his fingers across Eggsy’s cheekbones and pull him in for another kiss as he gently steers them across the room.

Harry’s office in the manor is huge; two windows looking out onto the grounds, desk facing a fireplace with armchairs grouped in front of it and behind the desk floor to ceiling bookcases which Harry now presses Eggsy against. Breathless and flushed, still managing to radiate cool authority even with his dick ruining the line of his trousers, Harry backs away to sit on the edge of his desk, raises an eyebrow at Eggsy and says, ‘strip.’

The room is dark, only the lamp on Harry’s desk is switched on and if Harry knows his angles, knows how to look his best Eggsy definitely does, raises his chin and begins by pulling his bowtie loose, letting it hang round his neck as he starts on his shirt buttons. Harry watches him, eyes half lidded, as Eggsy lets more and more of his clothes fall to the floor. Even when he’s naked, dick hard and straining against his belly, Harry doesn’t move so Eggsy drops his shoulders, presses back into the bookshelves, insouciantly, to take a hold of his prick in one hand, giving it a couple of slow strokes, eyes on Harry.

‘Did I say you could touch yourself?’  

‘Didn’t tell me I couldn’t’

‘I suppose I didn’t, turn around.’

Eggsy lets go of his dick reluctantly, turns to face the rows and rows of books, a sudden rush of goosebumps rising on his arms as Harry steps in close, still fully clothed, to kiss Eggsy’s shoulders, the tops of his arms. Eggsy presses his arse back to feel Harry’s dick, hot and hard, through his trousers, relishing the hiss of breath he gets from Harry in response. Like this, naked, with Harry fully clothed, Eggsy feels worshipped, adored, ‘like this, Harry, come on, fuck me,’ he whispers, doesn’t want the sound of his own voice to shatter the moment.

‘How could I ever resist when you ask me so sweetly, darling,’ says Harry, tracing his fingers slowly down Eggsy’s spine, to his arse, a tease of what’s to come. Harry takes both of Eggsy’s wrists, lifts his arms up, hands sliding to cover Eggsy’s in a grip on the shelves by his head, ‘stay like that for me,’ before stepping away.

Eggsy lets his head rest against the shelves, looks at the books he’s eye level with, Austen, for fuck’s sake, and closes his eyes. He hears a drawer in Harry’s desk snick open then closed and Harry is back behind him, one hand on Eggsy’s hip, the other, fingers slick now with lube, pressing between the cheeks of his arse as Eggsy spreads his legs and arches his back, shameless.

‘Gorgeous boy,’ Harry murmurs, almost to himself, as he strokes two fingers gently across Eggsy’s hole before sliding inside to work Eggsy open. With his eyes shut Eggsy thinks he can almost still hear the party going on two floors below them, his own heartbeat loud in his ears and Harry’s breathing, measured, like he’s holding something back.

‘Enough pissing about, Harry, someone will come looking for us soon.’

‘More fool them,’ Harry chuckles, ‘you’d think Merlin would have learned his lesson after Sarajevo,’ and continues his leisurely pace, pushing his fingers deeper until Eggsy is moaning raggedly, no longer caring if the entire fucking agency walks in so long as Harry fucks him, hard and fast, soon.

Harry simply squeezes more lube over his fingers, till Eggsy's arse is dripping with it and Harry is pushing three fingers into him, hitting his prostate on every thrust, lights sparking behind his eyelids as he screws his eyes shut in pleasure. It's the most exquisite torture and when Eggsy opens his eyes the first thing he sees is their reflection in one of the big windows; the contrast of his naked body, golden in the low light, Harry still in his tux, fingering Eggsy's arse, makes his dick twitch. Harry must feel it through his fingers because he slides them out, decides they've both had enough teasing, gets his own trousers open, slicking himself up and pressing inside with one hand at the nape of Eggsy’s neck. He stays still for a moment, waits for their breathing to sync, Eggsy draws in one shuddering breath, lets go of the last knot of tension and Harry begins to move. His thrusts force Eggsy up on to his tiptoes, clinging on to the shelves as if he’s trying to climb them. The brush of Harry’s jacket against his hip, the bite of his zipper across his arse on every thrust has Eggsy whining in the back of his throat, dropping a hand to stroke his own dick even as he anticipates Harry’s sharp, ‘no, Eggsy.’ Harry gets both of his hands on Eggsy’s hips then to pull him back onto his dick, thrusts precise, angled just right and Eggsy is moaning, babbling at Harry to let him come.

‘No one’s stopping you,’ murmurs Harry, reaches round to stroke Eggsy’s cock, once, twice, and Eggsy’s coming against the shelves, crying out, against his gritted teeth.

Harry pulls out, gentle hands to Eggsy’s sides, running through the short hair at the nape of his neck, ‘stay there, darling, perfect boy,’ and he can feel the quick movement of Harry’s hand, the obscene, slick sound of it and Harry’s groaning out his own release, come hot against Eggsy’s arse, the backs of his thighs.

Eggsy lets himself relax into Harry’s arms as Harry guides to sit in the desk chair, even though he's still sticky with sweat and come. Harry kneels at his feet and presses their foreheads together, ‘OK?’ he says quietly and Eggsy just nods, turns his face for a kiss.  

After a moment, Harry stands up, straightens out his clothes and heads for the window, drawing it up and open before sitting on the sill.

The cool breeze brings Eggsy back to himself, properly, ‘fucking in your office live up to expectations then?’ he says with a grin, swinging the chair around to watch Harry get out his cigarettes and light one up.

‘Above and beyond, darling,’ he says, letting out a quick, curl of smoke, ‘although I do hope you didn’t come on any of the first editions.’

 

VI.

‘Harry,’ calls Eggsy from the living room, weedling and petulant, and Harry closes his eyes in silent prayer. Twenty one days it takes to break a habit, they say; Eggsy has gone without a cigarette for six and a half and Harry is fairly certain no one has ever suffered this much. Harry certainly hasn’t.

‘What is it, darling?’ he says, sweetness itself.

‘Where did you leave them fags you had at Christmas? The fancy ones?’

Eggsy appears in the doorway of Harry’s office looking expectant and put upon, hair sticking up from where he’s been tugging at it, and so fucking gorgeous Harry would give in if it was anything else he was asking for.

‘You’ve given up,’ he says simply.

‘Harry it’s too hard, I feel…’ he doesn’t seem to be able to articulate the feeling, or doesn't think Harry will understand, as if Harry hasn’t started and given up smoking more times than he can count. He will do everything in his power to get Eggsy through this, even if they both go mad in the process.

Harry stands up and goes over, takes Eggsy’s hands, ‘smoking’ll kill you,’ he says, pulling Eggsy closer, ‘but if you need something to do with your mouth I can think of a few things.’

 


End file.
